UpbringingKlok
by Plymouthdodgewrecks
Summary: The story of how the members of Dethklok came to leave home and join a band. Amateur writer here, so this may be bad.
1. Chapter One: Toki

**Just a little fic on the upbringings of Dethklok and how they eventually come to meet each other. First five chapters will focus on each member individually. Still an amateur writer who's thinking this story up as he goes along, so don't expect a work of Shakespeare from this.**

Note: I attempted to write some lines in Norwegian, but a reviewer (thanks, Superlabelgirl) pointed out that several Norwegian characters are missing. So, italics will symbolize Norwegian (and Swedish, once we get to Skwisgaar's chapter).

Toki had grown used to the cold, to the pain of his lifestyle. Even as he slipped and his knee was scraped and impaled by a sharp chunk of ice, he remained unfazed, as he knew that his father would not be pleased if he saw him showing any sort of pain. He continued up the hill, his broom held firmly in his hands as he thourougly sweeped the snow away. Toki found it odd that he had to sweep the snow all the way up on the hill when his family never even used it for anything, but he didn't dare question them.

The blizzard around him raged on and a snowflake found its way into his eye, stinging and making him flinch. He lost his grip on the broom and tripped on the snow behind him, falling backwards. He pleaded to the Gods that his parents didn't see this, but as he hesitantly turned his head, he saw his father, Reverend Aslaug Wartooth, staring blankly, coldly. He stood unmoving, his impossibly dark cloak waving slowly in the chilling wind. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he extended his arm out, pointing a long, bony, skeletal finger toward the boy, and then curving the finger into a beckoning motion.

Toki wasted no time, as scared as he was. He reached for the broom and dragged it along beside him as he trudged down to meet his father. He eventually got to the bottom of the hill, looking up into the Reverend's unfeeling, wide eyes. His mouth curved downward in a furious frown before opening, the soft, quiet, nigh-whispered word scarily audible over the howling of the wind.

"_Follow._"

Toki bit back a whimper as he followed his father into the house, passing by his mother, into the basement of their small home. Aslaug thrust the door open and pointed to the end of the basement. Two chains hung from the wall, stained with the blood of the young boy who lived (or rather, worked) here. Toki knew what he needed to do. Obeying Aslaug's silent command, he ran to the chains and closed his eyes, waiting for it to all be over.

Aslaug reached for an ancient, squalor little bible, the pages yellow and torn. He recited lines, already etched far too deep into Toki's mind, as he reached for a whip. He slashed the boy with intense rage, Toki trying as hard as he could not to cry. Aslaug roared over the cracking of his whip, reading the same passages that Toki always heard, that Toki always found synonymous to punishment. The pain was too much, and he couldn't hold the tears back. He sobbed, much more loudly than was acceptable.

Aslaug paused. His mouth opened, his eyes narrowed in disgust, and he snapped his bible shut, the pages clapping together and dispersing a cloud of dust.

"_Boy, do you seek further punishment?_"

Toki closed his eyes tightly, desperately attempting to push the tears back.

"_No, father, I am sorry!_"

Aslaug grabbed Toki's chin, putting far too close his own face to his son's.

"_Do you really think "sorry" will save you?_"

Toki shook his head, swallowing his saliva.

"_Then next time, do not be so weak._"

He whipped harder, faster, with more rage than before. His recitations boomed through the large basement, drowning out the crack of the whip. Finally, after countless vicious slices at Toki's body, Aslaug dropped the whip and unchained him.

"_Get back to your chores. Now._"

Toki obliged, nodding his head frantically and rushing out. As he headed for the door, he heard quite the noise upstairs. He heard his mother, swearing and "Demanding answers", and the timid but stern voice of a man who he did not know. This man, however, was speaking some other language. Toki only knew Norwegian; He could not understand this man at all, and he assumed his mother couldn't either. Toki acted like he had heard nothing so as not to upset his father and continued through the door.

"_Who the hell are you? Get out of my house!_"

The foreign man spoke again.

"Ma'am, , my name is Charles Foster Ofdensen. I have, ah, reason to believe that you have not been, ah, raising your child properly."

Toki, now in the room with his mother and the man, saw him. He was wearing a formal suit and tie, short hair brushed back and smart glasses perched atop his nose. Toki could tell the look on Ofdensen's face was that of concentration. Ofdensen was attempting to understand what langauge Anja was speaking. He quickly understood it as Norwegian and spoke the same sentence in their tongue. He was still a little rough on the language, but nevertheless sure he got his message through. Anja's contorted face told him that.

"_To hell with you! Who do you think you are?_"

Charles was about to continue speaking, but Aslaug interrupted. He brushed his coat back and marched toward the suited man, his imposing figure towering over Ofdensen's.

"_You will leave my home. My son is being raised properly._"

Ofdensen opened his mouth to speak, but Aslaug threw his cold hand forward and grasped Ofdensen's neck around it. Being a trained fighter, Ofdensen was completely unfazed by this. He wrenched Aslaug's fingers from his neck and quickly aimed a fist directly for the Norwegian man's face, knocking him to the ground.

"Looks like I ah, knocked you out COLD. Because it's blizzarding. Outside." Ofdensen pinched his nose and felt the urge to cut out his vocal chords so as to prevent himself from ever saying that again. He shot a cold glare at Anja who, despite being so used to her husband's usual blank stare, reeled back and yelped.

Ofdensen turned away, straightened his tie, carefully stepped over Aslaug's unconscious body and kneeled down to speak to Toki, who stood completely frozen in the basement doorway.

"_Toki? Come with me, please._"

Toki was still in shock. Not from his father getting his ass rightfully handed to him before his very eyes, but because he had just seen another human. A human with such colorful skin, a human so very talkative, a human who did not give off a cold, ghostly air.

He unconsciously grabbed the older man's hand. Ofdensen pulled the boy along behind him, running from the house and through a forest of fir trees. Once they were far enough from the house, Ofdensen raised his arm to his mouth and turned on an odd device wrapped around his wrist.

"Hello? Charles Ofdensen speaking. Yes, we have another one."


	2. Chapter Two: Pickles

**Chapter 2. Thanks for the reviews...Er, review (Superlabelgirl). As long as at least one person is interested in this, I can continue it, so thank you for that. This one's pretty short and looking back on it, it seems more focused on Seth than it does Pickles. Sorry, again, for my amateur writing.**

**(also italics still represent foreign languages)**

Pickles wasn't allowed to do much when he was inside the house. He was only ten years old, but even for his age, his parents tied him down when he came home. This was why Pickles spent his time on the streets, often making drug deals with men twenty years older than him. He knew it was wrong, for a child so young to be drinking, smoking, and snorting so much, but he had to with a family like his.

He was just biking away from a deal, in fact, when he saw something that caught his attention. A small, black car, driven by a formally dressed man, a small boy wearing a blank gaze and a beaten and frostbitten face in the next seat over. Figuring he had not much better to do, Pickles chased after the car as fast as his bicycle could carry him. To his surprise, he managed to keep up with the car and watch where it was headed. The car dove into a sharp turn and Pickles followed.

What Pickles did not expect when turning into the next street, however, was his teenaged brother, Seth, leaning against a building with a cigarette in hand. Pickles, going far to quickly to turn away properly, prayed for the best and zoomed past Seth. But just as he passed his menace of a brother and thought he was safe, he felt a hand grab a fistful of his shirt. He was pulled off his bike, which zoomed ahead down the street,

"Well, hey, it's my fuckin' little brother, haven't see ya around the house for fuckin' ever, man, how you doin'?"

He dropped Pickles onto the sidewalk, the younger boy smashing his nose into the concrete. Paying no mind to his brother's snickering, Pickles tried to pull himself up, only to feel a shoe hit his back and thrust him back down.

"Feck yew, ya feckin' asshole! I was keepin' up wit' dat guy!"

Seth grinded his heel into Pickles' back and let out a hoarse laugh.

"Aw, I'm sorry, man, look, I know ya wanna go and play fuckin' House with your little friends and all, but I had to ask ya 'bout somethin'."

Pickles gave up attempting to free himself from Seth's shoe and sighed in resignation.

"Well, feckin' spit it out, ya shithead!"

Seth put out his cigarette and flicked it into Pickles' hair.

"Hey, now, is that any way to talk to your fuckin' big brother? Gimme a break, kid, you can't always be fuckin' chasin' after your fuckin' imaginary friends and shit."

The force of Seth's shoe lightened up slightly, and Pickles knew his guard was now down. He reached an arm up and threw it over his back, nailing Seth in the shin.

"I can't be feckin' bothered beatin' yer ass right now, I gatta find out what dat guy was doin' with dat kid!"

He quickly ran toward his bike, but Seth was much taller and, therefore, much faster. He grabbed Pickles by the shoulder, spun him around, and decked his brother square in the face.

"Alright, now that we're fuckin' done playin' Cops and Robbers, I'd like to ask you somethin', and I'd like you to fuckin' listen."

Seth grabbed Pickles by the shirt again, smiling at the site of his bleeding nose.

"Now, as I was fuckin' sayin', you little brat, I-"

He stopped mid-sentence, jerking his head to the right. The black car was across the street, the small boy inside, and the man driving was right next to Seth.

"I suggest you put that boy down, sir."

Seth quickly composed himself, his look of shock turning into a smug grin.

"Look, tons of you fuckin' suits have come and arrested me before, I'm fine with more jail time."

To prove it, he gave a solid punch into Pickles' gut. The driver of the car stepped closer.

"Sir, my name is Charles Foster Ofdensen. I am giving you your last warning to release that boy."

Seth's smirk turned into a full smile.

"Ah, sure thing, man."

He pulled his arm back and thrust it forward before letting go of Pickles, sending him flying and right into the pavement.

"There, I let the fuckin' kid go, can you piss off now?"

Ofdensen stepped closer yet again.

"No."

One high kick into Seth's jaw and he was knocked back into the window of the building behind him, breaking the glass with his head. Ofdensen looked down at his work.

"Hm. Smashing."

He pinched the bridge of his nose much harder this time before quickly running to pick up Pickles.

"Hello, Pickles? Pickles?"

Realizing that he was out cold, Ofdensen ran Pickles back to the car, putting him in the back seat. He looked to the passenger seat.

"_Toki? This is Pickles._"


	3. Chapter Three: Murderface

**Alright, chapter three, still bad at writing and feeling like punching myself in the face after reading over the last two chapters again. Thanks again for the review, SLG, and for pointing out the whole Pickles/Charles age thing, I'll just stretch out the aging a bit and say that Charles is in his early twenties or something. Here's another awful chapter of this awful story from this awful writer.**

**(And yes, another mandatory reminder that italics still mean foreign languages.)**

Murderface's eyes shot open. He was already late for school. He still stung from grandma Stella's spoon beating last night, he couldn't afford another one today. Instead of enduring the pain, he quickly dove out of the window of his room and raced out to school. He would much rather go through his hundredth detention than another "spoon session'.

Barging into the doors, he ran straight into the main office.

"Alright, I'm late, you can schend me to detentchion now!"

The receptionist shot a brief look up at William, pointing out toward the room he knew all too well. He figured that sitting in a desk doing absolutely nothing was much better than sitting in a desk doing schoolwork. He would simply fall asleep to the ticking of the clock and wait to be woken up by someone.

William turned to the other kids in detention and cleared his throat.

"Alrighty, none of you fuckbagsch dischturb me, and I won't dischturb your fucking bonesch, deal?"

He eyed a small boy with disturbingly black hair and an empty look in his eyes.

"That'sch double for you, Tonto!"

He threw himself down into a desk and was about to shut his eyes when he saw something strange outside the window. A small black car, parked on the side of the road, a suit-wearing man fiddling with the engine while two children lay inside. In fact, one of them looked all too familiar. There was only one child on Earth with hair as wild and brightly orange as that.

"Picklesch? Oh my god."

Murderface climbed through his second window that day as he raced out to see what was going on. Before he could reach them, however, he heard the sound of a motorized scooter. Taking a look to the left, there came his grandmother, spoon in hand.

"William! Get back in that school, or I will replace the spoon with the fork! In fact, I'll replace it with the knife if I have to!"

William ran to the black car, running to the window to see if Pickles noticed him. He hadn't thought of how Pickles would save him from his grandmother in the first place. Perhaps she'd just beat him first.

"Picklesch! It'sch me, Murderfacshe!"

He stepped back as he saw Pickles' bloodied face.

"Picklesch! What the fuck did you to do him, you pschycho!?"

He charged toward the suited man at the front of the car, arms outstretched. He had not expected for the man's hand to calmly come down onto his forehead and stop him from charging.

"Um, if you don't mind, I'm, ah, in the middle of something rather important."

William crossed his arms.

"Oh, yeah, like murdering Picklesch and putting the body in the back scheat with that other kid!?"

The man sighed.

"He isn't dead, but he will be if you don't let me fix this car and take him to a hospital."

Charles knew that there was no way Pickles could die from blood loss from some light head trauma, but this child could not have been more than twelve years old, and Charles sensed that this child was partcularly dim, so he would believe it. But after taking a look at the child, he had to do a double-take.

"Wait...Is your name, ah, by chance, William?"

William backed up and raised his eyebrows.

"William Murderfacshe, the fuck'sch it to you?"

Charles had a feeling that this one would take some convincing.

"I don't suppose that if I said "Come with me" you would do so?"

Murderface's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, yesch, I'm going to get in a car that belongsch to the man who killed a kid from my schchool. Schure, pal."

Charles glanced down the sidewalk.

"You know..."

He pointed to Stella, inching along the sidewalk in her scooter, spoon in hand. William sighed.

"Alright, I know you're going to kill me, but it'sch better than the schpoon."

He hopped into the car next to Toki, which sped off.

"Get back here with my goddamn grandson!"

Stella, in a desperate final attempt to give William his punishment, threw her spoon at Ofdensen's car, shattering the back window and bringing glass down onto Pickles. Charles took one, grim look at Pickles and then looked at Murderface.

"Well, now he really IS going to bleed out if we don't get him somewhere soon."

Toki took a nervous look at Murderface.

"_Um...hello._"

Murderface raised an eyebrow to Charles.

"What the fuck did that kid schay?"

Charles rubbed his temple with one arm as he drove with the other.

"Look, I'll explain later, just...oh dear god."

Stella, somehow, had caught up to the car, and she had more spoons at her disposal. Her massive arms flung the spoons into Ofdensen's car. Charles knew she would eventually hit another window and possibly kill him or one of the children, so he acted fast.

Opening the driver's side window, he faced Stella with his side of the car. As he suspected, she aimed for his head, which was now a clear target. With a swift movement of the hand, Charles caught the spoon in mid-air. He drove the car past Stella and fired the spoon at her, hitting her clean in the head and knocking her to the ground.

"Spooning is bad for you, kids."

A third, even harder pinch to his own nose, and Charles raced to the town hospital, pleading to forces he did not believe in that he would get there before Pickles bled out.


	4. Chapter Four: Nathan

_**WOOO MORE LAZY WRITING WITH NO JOKES AT ALL. Also, yay, more reviews. I don't have much to say because explaining my absence would take up half the chapter, so here goes. I HAVE changed the ages a bit to A: Fit with Ofdensen's age, and B: Because one of my favorite YoungKlok fanfics did it this way. So, Toki is 9, Nathan and Skwisgaar are 10, Murderface is 11, and Pickles is 12.**_

_**Italics are foreign languages and stuff.)**_

Nathan was still thinking of the name that Murderface had given him. "Tonto". He'd been completely zoned out from the outside world, thinking of a million names to call the kid at this point as revenge for his remark, but when Nathan looked around, he didn't see him. He considered himself lucky for catching a glimpse of Murderface inside of a car, however, and quickly turned to his friend, whispering.

"Holy shit, Magnus, did that guy just fucking abduct Murderface right in front of our eyes?"

Magnus, head tilted downward, flicked his tired eyes up to the window for a brief second before looking back at Nathan.

"Dude, where the hell were you? He just jumped out the window."

Nathan looked back out of the window, the car long since gone.

"Dude, he was inside some shady-ass car, I just saw it."

Magnus took another tired glance up to the time.

"Well, if you're willing to take the risk of getting caught for skipping detention to save that stupid, ugly shithead, be my guest. But I, for one, am tired of punishment, and I'd prefer to not risk it for that stupid bastard."

*Scene Switch*

Murderface looked to Ofdensen.

"Scho, like, isch there schomething you need usch for, becausche I can only think of one other explanation for a creepy old man picking up three kidsch and putting them in hisch car."

Ofdensen frowned.

"Ah, actually Murderface, I'm still in my twenties, but that's besides the point. Yes, I do need you, as well as a few others. However, at this, ah, moment in time, I'm unable to give you any information ab-""

Even though Ofdensen prepared for an interruption, he did not expect it to be so loud.

"I fucking knew it! You're a fucking kidnapper piecshe of schit! I know a lot of people who will come lookin' for me, and they'll beat your assch!"

Ofdensen was about to speak, but Murderface (thought that he) knew what the man was about to say.

"Name one!? I'll name plenty! For schtartersch, Nathan, and-"

Ofdensen almost stopped the car.

"William...What's his last name, this Nathan?"

"The one from my schchool? Nathan Exploschion."

Ofdensen nearly stopped the car and headed back for the school, but knew that Pickles had to be taken care of first.

*Scene Switch*

Nathan carefully examined the skidmarks of the fast moving car, wandering across town, following them. After an amount of time far too long for him to even think about it, he found the car parked, right outside of the hospital. He let himself in, ignoring the confused looks of nurses who saw a child without his parent.

After barging into several rooms and seeing several surgeries and births, murmuring "Brutal" to each, he finally found Murderface, standing inside of a room next to two complete strangers.

"Hey, Murderface, how the hell did you end up-HOLY SHIT! HOW BRUTAL IS THAT!?"

Nathan basked in the glow of Pickles' mangled, bloodied, glass-covered body in the hospital bed, imaging the scenario that led to this, licking his lips at the thought of how completely metal it must have been.

One of the strangers, a tall, cold figure in a suit, turned to him.

"Oh, hello, you ah, must be Nathan, yes? I guess that saves us an extra trip, then."

The second stranger, a small boy no older than him, hid behind the man's leg.

"Oh, this is, ah, Toki. He doesn't speak English, you see."

The man turned to Toki and kneeled down to him.

_"Toki, this is Nathan. He's coming with us as well."_

Toki, still in shock from being freed from his home, just nodded.

_"Oh, good. Hello, Nathan."_

Nathan's eyebrow raised sharply.

"...The fuck? Does this kid have, like, a disability or something?"

The man turned back around.

"Oh, sorry. He, ah, speaks Norwegian."

The gears in Nathan's brain moved slowly and something clicked.

"Oh...OH! Oh, that's like Swedish, right?"

Ofdensen shrugged.

"Well, ah, yes, it's a similar language to Swedish."

Nathan beamed.

"Awesome! I can talk to him then!"

Nathan cleared his throat and looked at Toki.

"Bork, bork, bork, horben borgen smeenski lorgen. Bork."

A long silence overcame them as Nathan stood with his mouth in a wide-open smile and his eyes vacant, confident in the fact that he did such a good job.

"...Anyway, ah, since the three of you go to the same school, I assume that Nathan also knows Pickles?"

Nathan looked down at the bloodied mass.

"Oh, shit, I guess that is Pickles."

Ofdensen straightened his tie.

"Well, hopefully he recovers soon, we need to hurry. I don't know how to put it any way save for bluntly, but we're being followed."

Murderface scratched his head.

"Do they look like creepy-assch chyborg-mantisch thingsch?"

Charles froze.

"...Yes, sort of. How did you know that?"

William pointed.

"Well, there'sch one in the window, for one.

One quick spin around and Ofdensen saw it, the Rusting Mantis, a six-foot metal...well, mantis, already through the window and ready to attack. Charles' fist met its claw, and they pushed and pulled until Murderface trudged over and stomped in its foot, making it let go of Charles and allowing him to knock its head off with a solid strike as the body went flying through the window.

"The Praying Mantis is the only insect that can turn its head with turning its entire body."

He looked at the severed head in his hand.

"This, however, can put them at a disadvantage."

His nose was really starting to hurt as he continued to pinch it.

"Boys, I'm honestly not sure what to do about Pickles. We're due for Sweden in a few hours, and we can't leave him here."

It took what felt like an eternity, but they finally came up with a brilliant plan that I'm too lazy to come up with in this chapter and as such will write about in the next one.


	5. Chapter Five: Skwisgaar

_Alright, this one's coming out pretty soon after the last one, and I'm still kind of getting back into the seat of writing. So, yeah, here's the final "intro chapter", Skwisgaar._

_Also, yes, the Mantis will be explained very soon. I don't know how (still writing this as I go), but I will._

_Also also, I planned on making the families of each member feature prominently within their chapters, but I just realized that I forgot Nathan's parents in his chapter, so I will include them sometime later._

_Foreign = Italics._

He knew that this was fate. Running from home, falling down into this cavern, finding this guitar. He knew it was meant to happen. He didn't know if he would ever see home again, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to. However, he had been down here with this guitar a long time, and he was getting hungry. He knew he'd have to figure out a way to get back home, but as he thought, he heard a voice, calling through the raging winds.

_"Skwisgaar!? Where are you!?"_

It felt odd hearing his mother actually seem worried for him, so he decided he would respond.

_"Down here!"_

Serveta's face became visible from the hole that he fell in.

_"Oh, thank god."_

Skwisgaar was still bewildered that his mother was so concerned for him.

_"Mom, I'm fine. It's okay."_

She shook her head.

_"Oh, no, no, I don't care about that. Some people are here for you and I don't want to seem rude by refusing to come find you."_

The fleeting feeling that his mother cared about him ripped itself from his mind and was lost in the snow.

_"Yeah, sure, be there in a second."_

Serveta made to get up and leave.

_"Okay, well take your time, I feel that I might enjoy...talking, to this man."_

Skwisgaar froze. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and now he certainly didn't want to go back up. He furiously tapped away at the frets of his guitar, shredding up the strings with his right, eyes shut tight in frustration.

*Scene Switch*

Charles saw Serveta's figure emerge over the frost-covered hill that she had left to a few moments before, no son in sight.

_"Ah, Ms. Skwigelf, where is Skwisgaar?"_

She made her way back down to Charles before answering him, giggling.

_"Oh, Skwisgaar will be on his way. In the mean time, his little friends here should go and play with him while I..."_

She placed a hand slowly over his neck.

_"...Play with you."_

Charles had heard stories about this woman, but he had dismissed them as some gossipers trying to make her look bad. But he quickly realized how wrong he was.

_"Ah...No, that's fine, these boys will stay with us, thank you. I'm actually waiting for one of them to return right now."_

Just as he said this, he saw Toki running through the snow toward him.

_"Um, Mr. Ofdensen, Pickles is awake. I think it worked."_

Charles breathed a sigh of relief.

_"Thank you, Toki. I'll be right there. Go take care of him until them."_

Toki obliged and ran out of sight.

_"Now, Ms. Skwigelf, we really need to speak with Skwisgaar."_

She wrapped her other arm around his chest and looked up at him, upper eyelids relaxed.

_"Oh, trust me, he'll be here. It's getting cold out here, come inside."_

Murderface turned to Nathan.

"Dude, you schpeak Schwedisch, right? The fuck are they schaying?"

Nathan simply shrugged.

"Dude, I learned all my Swedish from that chef on The Muppets. He never said any of this shit."

Charles turned to the both of them.

"Boys, we're going to have to find Skwisgaar ourselves. Follow me."

He shot Serveta a glare before walking along in the direction that she went earlier. Just as they disappeared over the hill, Nathan looked up at charles.

"Uh, dude, what happens if Toki comes back while we're over here?"

Charles slapped himself on the forehead for forgetting about Toki and turned to Nathan.

"I'm going to go keep an eye on him, you two find Skwisgaar. No wandering off, and if you get lost, stay where you are. I'll find you."

Charles ran off and Nathan looked around at the frozen wasteland, the occasional tree and mountain in the distance.

"How the fuck do we get lost here!?"

*Scene Switch*

Skwisgaar heard the voice of a boy about his age. Having never heard a voice in this area save for his mother's and thousands of adult men, he was rather surprised.

_"Um, hello?"_

*Scene Switch*

Murderface put his fingers to his lips and shushed Nathan, listening. He heard a voice.

"Hello!?"

He expected to hear "Hello" in return, but instead he heard "Hej".

He sighed.

"Oh, schit. Of coursche, this kid schpeaks Schwedisch too. How are we gonna get him to follow usch?"

Nathan simply continued forward in the direction of the voice, which seemed to be coming from a large opening in the ice.

"Hey, is someone down there?"

He spied a blonde child with a white sweater and a guitar.

"Hey, uh...What was your name? Skewer-Guard? We need you."

*Scene Switch*

Skwisgaar couldn't understand a word that this child was saying, so he simply picked up his guitar and looked for a way up to him. He found a small crack in the wall of ice. He headed toward it, praying that he could get out through it, when it burst open. Ice sliced through him and knocked him back. He heard the sound of large, heavy footsteps coming from the cavern. He heard the voices of the children above.

"Oh, schit! It'sch the fucking mantisch thing again!"

Skwisgaar backed away. He reached for his guitar, which he had flung across the room in fright, and grabbed it around the neck. He swung the body at the mech, knocking it back and exposing circuits. He threw another blow at it and it went down, falling to pieces.

_"Hey, the neck's still straight."_

Just as he finished this sentence, a suited man dropped from into the cavern.

_"Skwisgaar, you..."_

He quickly spotted the mantis' body.

_"How did you kill that?"_

Skwisgaar looked at his guitar.

_"With this."_

The man looked down at the body.

_"It's still moving."_

He grabbed Skwisgaar's guitar, produced an amp from Hammerspace and plugged it into the guitar in a flash. He turned the volume to max and swung down on the strings with all of his might. The feedback from the amp was enough to knock both Skwisgaar and the mantis to the ground, and destroy the latter's head.

"It's always good to get feedback about your ideas."

Charles' nose was starting to hurt now from how often he was pinching it.

**It actually hurt to write the last bit of this chapter because of how rushed I had to make the mantis-battle. I still haven't explained the mantises or how they got Pickles to Sweden, so I'll do that next time.**


	6. Chapter Six: Helicopter

**Hey, this amateur-ass fic is back after hiatus. Sorry about that. BIG WARNING: THIS IS THE WORST CHAPTER IN THE ENTIRE FIC BY FAR, SURPASSING EVEN SKWISGAAR'S CHAPTER IN TERMS OF AWFULNESS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND IF YOU HAVE READ THROUGH ALL THE CHAPTERS PRIOR TO THIS EXPECTING IT TO GET BETTER, I AM SO, SO SORRY.**

**Italics are foreign languages.**

After countless hours, the boys were all settled into the chopper. Pickles had been put into a "stasis chamber" of sorts to keep him from dying of blood loss. Charles disappeared into another room and left the boys to their own devices.

"So..." Nathan spoke up after a long silence. "...Anyone know what the hell's going on?"

Murderface sighed and put his arms behind his head.

"Well, let'sch schee here; Schady-assch old guy comesch and kidnapsch five kids, then fliesch away with them in a fucking helicopter." He put his face inches from Nathan's. "THE FUCK DO YOU THINK ISCH HAPPENING, JACKASSCH!?"

Nathan was completely unfazed, not so much as blinking as the spit flew onto his face from point-blank range.

"I dunno, I like this guy. This helicopter is pretty bad-ass, anyway."

Murderface gestured toward Pickles.

"Do you schee what thisch creepy fuck did to him!? He cut him the fuck up, that'sch what!"

As the two argued about Charles, Skwisgaar and Toki sat on the opposite side of the room and talked with each other. Skwisgaar had learned Norwegian from the many Norwegian men Serveta had brought in, so he was able to have a clear conversation with Toki.

"_So, Talkay, right?_"

Toki barely mumbled out his response. Skwisgaar, who was sitting barely a foot away from him, couldn't even hear him.

"_What?_"

After a few minutes of mumbling, Skwisgaar finally heard "_It's Toki_".

"_Right, Toki. Why are you so quiet?_"

He couldn't get any response out of the kid at all and simply decided to sit back and watch Nathan and Murderface argue, when a distorted voice came from somewhere in the room.

"Doods, whet the feck did'ja do ta me?"

Murderface groaned.

"Oh my fucking god, now the asschole is trying to fuck with usch! He'sch talking like Picklesch!"

They heard the voice again.

"Shut yer feckin' mouth an' lemme out, Murderface."

The two were looking at the stasis chamber, yet Pickles was showing no signs of cognitive awareness.

"Don't ask me how yew can hear me, jest open it!"

Right at this moment, a large man wearing an executioner's burst through the door.

"Sirs, something is wrong. The helicopter is going to crash."

Charles came in seconds after.

"Boys, we need to get out of here. Assuming we survive the crash, we'll still be in their territory."

**So, yeah, another tiny chapter that advanced nothing in the plot and was not funny in any way whatsoever. Not a single joke in this entire chapter, nor anything to advance the plot. This is getting worse every chapter.**


	7. Chapter Seven: Room

**Longer chapter, still barely goes anywhere and hardly advances the plot.**

The boys froze when they heard this news. They didn't move a muscle, which was a rather important action as of right now.

"But..." Nathan spoke above a whisper as the helicopter began to descend. "...what about Pickles?"

"Yeah!" Pickles shouted telepathically. "Yew can't jest leave me here hooked up ta this shit! I'll die!"

Charles was next to Pickles in less than a second. He unhooked the wires one by one, careful not to screw up and kill the child.

'Come on', Charles thought to himself. 'This boy cannot die. He is part of the prophecy.'

Seventeen wires. Sixteen wires. Fifteen wires.

And then, he heard a horrid sound. Like metal being dragged across metal.

'Oh my god. This is it. This child is going to die because of me.'

Charles noticed, however, that the sound was closer than it should have been...far too close, in fact. The sound stopped.

"MOVE OVER, ASSCHOLE! LET ME DO THISCH!"

And with that, the source of the sound, a large sledgehammer twice Murderface's weight, was heaved past his shoulder and crashing into the glass of the chamber. Charles felt like time had stopped. There was no way Pickles could survive being broken out so quickly. And yet, there he was, coughing and spluttering, regenerative liquids soaking the room.

Charles stared a hole through Murderface.

"William...where did you find this hammer?"

Murderface grinned wickedly.

"I got it off your guard. Took thisch knife too."

He produced a small, silver dagger with a red gem in the middle.

Charles whipped his head around and saw one of his guard's legs sticking from a door, covered in blood. He didn't have time to respond, right now he needed to get the boys out. He grabbed the only parachute (in retrospect, this was a poor design choice on his part) and grabbed the five of them. The last thing he remembered was jumping and hitting the water.

When he awoke, however, he found himself not dead in the ocean, but in a small, wooden room. He could hear a familiar voice say "Doods, he's awake!" before passing back out.

"Uh..." Pickles laughed. "Well, he was."

Nathan kicked a wall and grunted.

"I'm tired of waiting, let's just carry him out."

He kicked another wall, but failed to realize a bit too late that Toki was in front of said wall.

"_What the fuck are you doing!_?" Skwisgaar screamed, watching as blood fell from Toki's mouth.

Nathan, still not very fluent in Swedish, knew that Skwisgaar was mad and tried to communicate with him as best as he could.

"Hurdi burdi bork fuckin' sergudd!"

Murderface and Pickles had crowded Toki as well at this point. They could hear faint whimpers even through Nathan and Skwisgaar's yelling.

Pickles ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, shit. Murderface, we gotta do somethin'."

Murderface walked back to Charles' body, kicking him in the side.

"Wake up, asschole! We need schomeone to sctop the blood!"

He kicked him a few more times before giving up.

"Asschole. If he was ever on the recshieving end of one of Nathan'sch kicksch, he'd have schome schympathy."

Skwisgaar got fed up with arguing and threw a punch at Nathan. This ended about as well as you may expect it too, and Skwisgaar was on the floor in two seconds.

Waking up in a small, closed, wooden room and seeing two of your kids bleeding on the floor and an incredible pain in your side is not at all pleasant, but Charles had a job, and that was to help these five.

"Alright, boys, I-"

The sound of another voice startled Murderface enough to throw his dagger in Charles' direction, realizing a bit too late whose arm he had just put a blade in.

"God dammit."


End file.
